


Over the Mountains and Under the Stars

by starkaryen



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Galahad and Tristan are both such fools, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Power Bottom Galahad, Pre-Canon, Tristhad Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkaryen/pseuds/starkaryen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad wasn’t a fool. He knew perfectly well that the feelings he had harbored for Tristan for some time now would never be requited. But Tristan had never joined the knights’ jokes about this particular matter, and he had always inwardly thanked him for that…<br/>Until this moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ETA. Sirenja made [this beautiful gifset](http://sirenja-and-the-stag.tumblr.com/post/142578053468/over-the-mountains-and-under-the-stars-by) from one of the scenes in the first chapter♥️
> 
> \---
> 
> All right, Tristhad Week, FINALLY!!! *__*
> 
> This is my first Tristhad fic, and since I couldn't participate on Spacedogs Week, I was so excited to participate in this one.  
> A few things!
> 
> · This is set about two years (more or less) before the movie's events.  
> · Since the fic is almost finished, I'll publish throughout the week, every two days :)  
> · The title is a line from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSLUe5ZcXHg). Thank you to those who helped me choose it!<3 (also because I'm awful with titles)  
> · I'll add the tags as I publish the chapters, as I always do with my fics.  
> · This is probably _very_ historically inaccurate, so I'm sorry if something (like idk, the usage of a word or something like that) makes you cringe, but... I mean. So is the movie, right? haha  
>  · Thank you A MILLION TIMES to [CarpeDiemForLife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDiemForLife/) for being a wonderful beta and helping me so much♥️. Any other mistakes that are here are my own.
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is for the Fannibal Family on twitter. You know who you are! ♥️

The air was filled with lively music and loud voices when Galahad went into the square in which all the men gathered to drink after the sun had set. That night wasn’t any different, and Galahad quickly recognized his brothers, sitting around a shaky table.

“Here’s our pure little brother!” Bors roared the moment he saw him approaching.

“What do you mean pure?” Gawain asked, raising his cup towards Galahad. “I think our brother is anything _but_ pure by now.”

Galahad said nothing as he settled in a chair between Gawain and Bors, and he shook his head. _Here they go again_ , he thought, resigned.

Bors heaved a raspy laugh and nudged at him, spilling some of his beer onto him and almost throwing him off the chair.

“That’s true, I sometimes forget how you’re not so pure anymore. Tell me, you got any new company tonight, little rascal? Maybe that’s why it took you so long to come…?” Bors asked him before taking a gulp from his cup.

“Come on, guys… No, I don’t have any company tonight, nor do I desire it,” Galahad said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. But the truth was, he was half lying.

He _did_ desire company, although not at all the company his brothers thought, but a much different type of company. The company of, specifically, one of them.

“Are you sure…? Isn’t that the whole point of flaunting those legs of yours everywhere?” Lancelot inquired, slurring his words.

Galahad blushed violently, and when Bors touched his knee lightly to mock him, he slapped him away.

“I’m more comfortable this way and besides-” he started saying, as he had the previous thousand times the knights had referenced his outfit. But they weren’t listening to him, as they never did.

“What about the daughter of the shepherd that brought the cheese this morning? You were looking at her across the training camp,” Gawain told him, raising both eyebrows.

“I- no! I wasn’t looking at anybody.”

Galahad thought that it wasn’t fair. They had seen him _once_ with a woman a long time ago, and since then they teased him about it almost every day. Or, at least, every day that they decided to drink in the garrison’s outdoors tavern, which happened to be almost every night.

The woman had been very beautiful, and when she had taken his hand and pulled him towards a room, he had let her. But after spending that night with her, as he silently slipped out of the room while the woman slept, he had known one thing for sure: he wasn’t interested in lying with her ever again, or with the shepherd’s daughter, or with any other woman, not any time soon nor in the future.

“What about the woman that served our drinks in that tavern last week?” Dagonet inquired, joining the game.

“She was a bit mature for our little Galahad here, wasn’t she?” Bors said, taking another gulp from his drink.

“Maybe he has a preference for mature women, leave the pup alone,” Gareth implied.

Galahad rolled his eyes as the rest laughed loudly and stood up with the intention of going away. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to have a drink, which had been his main intention for the night, but they always managed to annoy him.

“Come on, we’re just joking,” Gawain told him, taking his arm and pulling him downwards until he was seated again.

Bors took the clay pitcher from the unsteady table and poured the beer into an empty cup. Then he put it in Galahad’s hand before he could try to flee again, and though Galahad shook his head, he took a sip of the bitter drink anyway.

In that moment, his eyes shifted across the table, and his cheeks turned swiftly redder than they already were. Tristan was there, a little away from the circle of knights, in a chair half covered in the shadows with his back against the wall and a drink in his hand. And judging by the gleam in his eyes, it was by far not the first he had had.

But it wasn’t only the fact that Galahad had just noticed the scout’s presence, realizing he had heard what everyone had said; Tristan was staring at him, almost too intensely. Galahad forced himself to look away, shifting his eyes to his hands, to the drink, trying to focus on anyone or anything that wasn’t the man sprawled over the chair with his gaze fixed on him.

“All right, I know of one that _definitely_ visited our pup’s bedchamber,” Gawain started again, and Galahad stayed still, fearing what the other was going to say. He was Galahad’s best friend among all the knights, but when he drank he became a little too annoying. “The beautiful young Irish redhead from the forge in the town we went by a month ago.”

“What redhead?” Galahad asked, and immediately he realized his mistake: answering to any of his provocations.

“Come on, don’t act all innocent. She went to the inn that night, I saw her. I’m certain she was looking for you, my friend.”

The rest started laughing and whistling, and even though what Gawain had said wasn’t true, Galahad felt his skin blushing once again from his chest all the way up to his ears.

“Perhaps he doesn’t have any preference for women, after all.”

The others laughed even louder, but Galahad froze as he felt his stomach churning. He looked up again at Tristan, because he had been the one who had talked, and felt his chest tightening almost painfully when he saw the knight’s calm expression.

Galahad wasn’t a fool. He knew perfectly well that the feelings he had harbored for Tristan for some time now would never be requited. The scout seemed to enjoy teasing Galahad sometimes, calling him a pup or referring to his lack of experience in the training field, as the rest of the knights. But Galahad was fine with that, he was used to being the youngest and latest to join the knights, and he knew the men’s teases were only that; he proved himself in the battlefield every time they had to fight. But Tristan had never joined the knights’ jokes about this particular matter, and he had always inwardly thanked him for that… Until this moment.

Galahad swallowed with difficulty, and then he left the untouched drink on the table before standing up and storming off. The others yelled at him, pleading with him to stay, that they were _just joking_ , but Galahad didn’t stop, not that time. He didn’t stop when he almost collapsed into a group of roman soldiers who were most probably staggering towards their chambers, nor when he started navigating the halls of the garrison, or even when he finally went into his room.

Galahad wanted to laugh and cry and the same time, he felt like yelling because of how stupid he was, and hit something because he couldn’t believe how much this was affecting them. What did he expect? That Tristan would defend him in front of the others? No, that’s definitely not what he was expecting. Perhaps he was just expecting him not to join the others, at least that…

“Galahad.”

He turned around, and only when he blinked at seeing Tristan standing in the threshold, did he realize he had unshed tears in his eyes. But he didn’t shed them, and he wondered when the knight had followed him. He hadn’t even heard him opening the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“If it bothers you so much, you shouldn’t listen to them.”

He laughed before he could stop himself, a harsh and bitter bark that made him want to cry even more with the scorching feeling that attempted to burn his throat.

“What a brilliant advice. Is that why you joined them in their _funny_ jokes?”

Tristan closed the door behind him and took a couple of steps towards him, and it was only then that Galahad realized the scout must’ve been even more drunk than he had guessed in the first place. Tristan’s steps were still graceful and quiet as a cat, but there was a slight swaying in his movements that perhaps would’ve gone undetected by someone who hadn’t been practically living with the man for years.

“Most men wouldn’t be annoyed for having a reputation with women,” Tristan said, his words more accented because of the alcohol.

“Well, I’m not most men, then. And it bothers me because those things are not true.”

He was standing in the center of the room so tensed and with his fists clenched so hard, that when Tristan took another step towards him, he suddenly realized he couldn’t even move. The older man looked at him for a couple of long seconds through the disheveled locks of his hair, one of his braids swinging with the movement, and then ran his tongue across his lips before speaking.

“Which part?” Tristan asked him, and Galahad furrowed his brow.

“What?”

“Which is the untrue part? Is it the identity of the women… or the women entirely?”

Galahad’s lip twitched, because he understood then what Tristan was implying. When he had said that about him not having a preference for women, Galahad had thought he meant to continue the other knights’ jokes about the women’s age. But in that moment, he knew he didn’t mean that. Galahad immediately regretted telling him anything at all, since it meant Tristan now suspected the truth: that he didn’t fancy women at all.

But before he could open his mouth to try to deny it, Tristan leaned forwards, and that silenced him. Galahad didn’t move when the man took his face between strong but gentle, calloused hands. And he didn’t move when all he could see was Tristan’s blurry face, too close for him to focus on anything else except the black tattooed lines in his cheekbones. And finally, he didn’t move when Tristan tipped his head to the side and pressed his mouth against Galahad’s.

The first second was a chaste kiss, merely lips over lips, although that didn’t stop Galahad from feeling something strange go through his limbs, as if there were ants running inside his chest, through his arms and down to each of his fingers, that were hanging by his sides.

But then Tristan moved his lips against Galahad’s, slowly and gently sucking at his upper lip. Tristan tasted like wine and some kind of fruit, and Galahad felt as if he was melting like the winter snow when the summer sun rose high and relentless in the horizon.

But Galahad suddenly realized what was happening. He finally realized that Tristan _was_ really kissing him, and the reason why that was happening dawned on him.

Galahad put both hands flat on Tristan’s chest and pushed him away. The scout stepped awkwardly backwards, and Galahad could see his face now, but he chose not to, looking down and fisting his hands at his sides while he tried to catch his faltering breath.

“Get out.”

“Galahad-“

“ _Now_ ,” he said through clenched teeth.

He waited for a short eternity, standing in the middle of his room with his eyes closed, even if he didn’t remember having closed them, but he didn’t hear the other move. When Galahad gathered the courage to open them and look up, he was alone in his room. And then, he finally let the tears stream down his cheeks.

Galahad had dreamed so many times about Tristan’s lips, staring at them the few times the scout talked in their gatherings at the round table, or looking at him across the hall when they were all having dinner, or thinking about them in the solitude of his bed. And now Tristan had kissed him, something that would’ve meant the world for him… But he knew that Tristan had probably done that to mock him, having uncovered his deepest desire. And if he hadn’t been as subtle about his feelings towards Tristan as he had been about his other secrets, the scout no doubt had discovered that part, too, and that had elicited the kiss. Because he probably knew how much that would hurt and mortify him.

That night, Galahad fell asleep wishing he could rip out all the feelings inside him and throw them away, away, away.


	2. Chapter 2

The next days, Galahad tried to avoid Tristan’s presence entirely. Whenever he entered a room and he found Tristan but not the rest of the knights, he would walk out immediately. He also avoided the rest of the men for a few nights, lest they would somehow see the truth of what had happened between them, and because he knew Tristan would surely be there too. But after a few days, when they started asking him about his absence in the tavern every day during the training, he decided he just couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable longer. What he found when he went to the tavern that night, however, was that Tristan was nowhere to be seen. He asked Gawain subtly when the man was on his third drink, but his brother-in-arms furrowed his brow and looked over at the spot the silent scout usually took.

“I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t here,” he said, his cheeks brightened by the wine, and then he shrugged. “He’ll be brooding around somewhere, as usual.”

And turning around, Gawain concluded the conversation.

Galahad sought him the day after, telling himself that he was just checking that the scout was all right, not because he needed to see him. After going through the main hall and the tavern, even if it was daylight, Galahad finally found him by the training camp, with his chestnut hawk set on a wooden post. Tristan looked up when he heard him approaching, and he froze with the piece of raw meat he had probably intended to feed to the bird. Their gazes met, and when he saw the scout’s calm, almost indifferent expression, Galahad felt his stomach tightening in the now familiar sensation that had accompanied him in the previous days. Galahad pursed his lips and turned around to go away, not able to trust himself not to cry in front of the other man. And giving Tristan the satisfaction was the last thing he wanted.

That night, however, when Galahad went to drink with the men, Tristan was there among the rest of the knights. Galahad tried to focus on the others while he drank more beer than he had ever drank, trying to make the hole he felt inside him disappear, or at least trying to blurry it a little.

The next morning he was hiding in the main hall, having a late breakfast, when someone flopped down beside him on the bench, shaking it and making Galahad’s head move unpleasantly. He groaned while he looked at Gawain, who was chewing a piece of dried meat with a smug smile on his face.

“What?” Galahad asked him curtly, and his head gifted him with another intense pang of pain.

“How much do you remember from last night?”

“Last night… Well, I definitely remember drinking,” he said, and he would’ve huffed a laugh if it wouldn’t have been more painful than stabbing himself with the fork.

Gawain shifted, sitting with a leg on each side of the bench and hunching towards him.

“So you don’t remember how you got _so_ drunk that I almost had to carry you senseless to your room?”

Galahad moved his breakfast with the fork, but his stomach threatened to throw up what he had managed to ingest if he dared to add any more of it. He left the fork and looked to Gawain.

“No, I obviously don’t remember,” he confirmed. Gawain’s smile stretched.

“So who’s the _he_ you kept talking about?”

That time, Galahad had to swallow and stay very still to manage not to throw up. When he opened his eyes again, he felt so light-headed he wondered if he was going to faint.

“Excuse me?”

“When I walked you to your room, you kept telling me that you wanted to hate _him_ but you couldn’t. And then you said that you actually hated his dumb face… It was a little contradictory, I’m not going to lie to you.”

Galahad looked away and tried to shrug, but it came out as a clumsy gesture.

“I… don’t know. You said it yourself, I had drunk too much.”

“Yes, but who-”

“Galahad!”

The voice echoed in the hall’s walls and inside Galahad’s skull, and it made them both look towards the doors at once. That voice always carried authority in every word, even if the owner didn’t mean to. Arthur was standing there, and he nodded towards the exit.

“Could you come with me for a moment?”

Galahad didn’t even answer to him, since he knew it was more a command than a request. He stood up and looked one last time at Gawain, who gave him an encouraging nod, and then he walked towards the doors. Arthur started walking ahead the moment Galahad was beside him.

“I have a mission for you.”

The words immediately painted a bright smile on Galahad’s face even though his head kept hammering with each step he took and his eyes were protesting at the increase of light outside the main hall. But he cleared his throat and tried to cast a more serious expression on his features, so he didn’t seem like a young stallion that was going to be able to trot freely for the first time. He had of course gone on missions with the rest of the knights, but while they all had been assigned to a minor mission at some point, he had not yet been called for that purpose by Arthur until that moment.

“For me?”

“Yes. Can you do it?”

“Of course, Arthur. I- Of course I can,” he said, lifting his chest a little with pride at having being chosen for the task.

Galahad noticed for the first time that Arthur had guided him to the room next to the one with the round table, the one they used sometimes for devising strategies before going on the missions when they needed the map.

When he entered behind Arthur, however, he froze right under the threshold. Tristan was there, leaned with a shoulder against the wall and calmly cutting pieces of an apple before eating them right from the knife. The scout only shot him a quick glance caged by a few locks of hair before focusing back on his food.

“It will only be an expeditionary mission,” Arthur kept talking, as if Galahad hadn’t suddenly stopped and as if there wasn’t another person present there.

But Galahad thought that Tristan was one of the Sarmatian knights, so Arthur surely wouldn’t mind him being present while he informed him of his mission. He finally gathered up the courage to fully step into the room, closing the door behind him.

“One of the explorers from the outposts sent word saying that he saw signs of the Woads around half a day from the camp,” Arthur said, turning towards the map over the wooden table.

“Here, in the south?” Galahad asked, stepping closer.

“Yes. If they’re truly them, apparently they’re getting bolder. But maybe it’s nothing, that’s why I’m sending you, just to make sure. You two will not engage at all; even if you find anything, or even anyone, you are to come back right away to inform me.”

Galahad nodded, but then he furrowed his brow a little.

“Wait… two?”

“You and Tristan,” Arthur frowned, nodding towards the third man, as if Galahad hadn’t seen him. “You’ll be accompanying him.”

All the excitement he had amassed suddenly seemed to deflate inside him, lowering his shoulders. Because _of course_ , the first mission he got, was not even _his_ mission. After all, Tristan was the most experienced scout… and he probably was just the partner Arthur had demanded Tristan to take with him.

“I- uhm…” he started saying, not even sure of _what_ he wanted to say.

“Is there any problem?”

Galahad pursed his lips. Whatever was the reason for his presence in the mission, this was the first time Arthur had approached him for one that wasn’t with the entire group. And if he ruined it, who were to say he would trust him again at some point in the future? No, he couldn’t miss this opportunity, even if it meant having to spend an entire day riding along with Tristan.

“No, not at all,” Galahad finally said.

“Good. You’ll leave tomorrow at dawn, and you should be back by sundown. I’ve already given Tristan the rest of the details, so he’ll inform you.”

Arthur gave him a nod, and he knew that was his cue to leave the room. He went outside, and only when he stopped in the middle of the hall to try to collect himself a bit, did he notice Tristan’s presence right behind him. He jumped a little, moving to the walls until he felt the cold stone brushing his bare shoulder. Tristan had finished eating the fruit, only a little piece with the stalk remaining between his index finger and his thumb. He put the little knife he had used in one of the many pockets his belt had for that particular purpose, and looked up at him slowly.

“Will you be able to carry out this mission?”

The fury surged inside him sudden and blazing, and he clenched both fists at his sides.

“What does that _mean_?”

Tristan gave him another calm look, and Galahad hated him more than ever in that moment. The way he was _so_ collected when Galahad felt inside his chest a storm ready to unleash.

“It _means_ that you have been avoiding me-”

“I haven’t avoided you!” Galahad barked, even though they both knew it was such an obvious lie.

“-And I don’t want you to come out of obligation if you don’t want to. I can ask Arthur for another partner.”

“I can do this,” he assured him.

He stood there in the most defying position he could conjure until Tristan nodded once.

“All right. Then I’ll see you tomorrow at dawn in the stables,” he simply said, and then he circled him to go away.

Once the scout disappeared down the hall, Galahad let out a long sigh, all the tension in his muscles slowly relaxing as sadness and tiredness replaced the anger. He felt embarrassed at knowing that Tristan had noticed his attempts at avoiding him. But he also felt hurt, because now he feared that the scout was distrusting Galahad’s skills as a knight.

He wondered how he was going to survive to a complete day beside the knight, seeing how little Tristan cared about what had happened, and how much that made everything worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRSTLY, Sirenja made [this AWESOME gifset](http://sirenja-and-the-stag.tumblr.com/post/142578053468/over-the-mountains-and-under-the-stars-by) to go with the first chapter! I posted the fic first so I couldn't tell you there. Go see how gorgeous it is<33
> 
> This chapter one's a little short, sorry about that! Next chapter will be much longer, but I couldn't cut the chapters differently ^^
> 
> Also, I can't _believe_ the reception the first chapter had?!? THANK YOU to all who read it, left a comment, kudos, or told me something on twitter♥♥


	3. Chapter 3

Tristan brushed the ashes with two fingertips and looked up, still crouched by the circle of stones that had been a campfire.

“They left days ago. Knowing them, they’ll probably be back to the north side of the wall by now.”

Galahad nodded. He saw a twig on the ground by a trunk, and the earth was a little stirred. He figured one of the Woads must have been scratching the soil with the stick, probably out of boredom. He kicked the stick away and sighed as Tristan finally stood up. Galahad knew their mission had been only of research, but he still had hoped to find something more exciting than a camp abandoned several days before and a twig on the ground.

When he turned to eye Tristan again, he found the scout looking up at the sky with a slight frown in his brow, and Galahad wondered if he was thinking about his hawk, which he had left in the garrison, since she still wasn’t sufficiently trained. Galahad wondered if he would be envisioning the swift flight of the animal, the wings silently cutting through the air while she circled him… Galahad blinked so the image faded away from his mind, and when Tristan closed his eyes for a second, Galahad could’ve sworn he was sniffing the air.

“A storm is coming.”

The scout said the words without any inflection, as if merely stating a fact, and Galahad rolled his eyes.

“Great. Just the thing this mission needs,” he said, heaving out a bitter sigh.

“We should camp for the night.”

Galahad’s lips stretched in a smile, but the joy didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, no. We’re _not_ camping,” he said, dropping his voice to almost a growl. “We’re coming back to the garrison and we’ll be reporting to Arthur this very same night.”

He turned away without waiting for the scout’s response and started walking away and towards the tree by which they had left their horses.

When Galahad had met Tristan in the stables that morning, his stomach had been unsettled and he was so tense, his neck hurt. The first few hours he had been like that on his horse, staring from time to time at the back of Tristan, the way the scout’s body rocked on the horse as if he was just part of it; or more likely, as if the horse was an extension of his body. Galahad actually wanted to hate him, he wished he could. He wished he could, at least, look at Tristan without feeling the familiar knot in his stomach, the one that made his heart flutter and the lower of his belly light up. But the truth was, as annoyed and angered as he was in that moment with him, his feelings persisted like a stubborn creature clawing at his insides and refusing to die.

After the first few hours, he had allowed himself to relax a little, and when they had stopped to eat by a river, he had actually managed not to glare at Tristan when the scout had handed him the wineskin with a calm expression in his eyes.

But now Galahad got on his horse and pulled the reins a little too hard, the annoyance having returned. Because riding in silence with him for a day was one thing, but having to spend the night in his company and out in the wild, was another thing entirely.

His grey horse huffed out a complaint, but backed away nonetheless. And, as if to demonstrate how serious he was about not wanting to camp, Galahad dug his heels in his horse’s flanks, not waiting for Tristan. He soon heard the scout’s horse’s hooves against the dirt, and he sighed a little with relief, because he wasn’t actually trying to leave him behind.

They didn’t say anything else for a long time while they rode, but of course, damn Tristan was right, as usual. As the sun descended on the horizon, the cold started to increase, and the dark clouds that had threatened them from a distance quickly covered them. Galahad wondered if they hadn’t miscalculated the daylight hours, since it started to get too dark too soon, and the mission was supposed to have lasted only one day. Although in truth, it had taken them a little more than half a day to reach the Woads’ abandoned camp.

“Galahad.”

He clenched his teeth when he heard his name, but didn’t turn around or stop. He looked out of the corner of his eye once again at the sky, knowing what Tristan was going to say, but not wanting to hear it anyway.

“Galahad, we have to camp.”

“We’re not camping tonight,” he simply repeated.

Tristan’s horse suddenly neighed, and he passed trotting beside him, cutting off Galahad’s path. He glared at Tristan when his own horse stopped, and the man returned his gaze calmly but firmly.

“Unless you want to get caught in the storm and risk the horses getting hurt… We _have_ to camp.”

And, as if the sky was plotting against him, the first raindrop fell on Galahad’s face, making him blink and infuriating him even more.

But as mad as he was with Tristan, he also knew he was right. They still had a few hours until they made it to the camp, and they couldn’t ride in the dark and with the storm… They _did_ have to camp for the night. So Galahad swallowed his pride and finally nodded at the knight.

They rode for a while still until they found a good spot to stop for the night, and they began to work wordlessly. Galahad tended the horses while Tristan took charge of setting up the tent. When Galahad had freed the animals from their reins and saddles, he turned and suddenly realized something: they only had the one tent. Since they hadn’t been planning on spending the night outside the camp, the tent had been merely a preventive measure. But now they were definitely going to have to spend the night there, and they would be caged in a tent that was, without any doubt, too small for the both of them. Or, at least, way smaller than Galahad would want for a space that he had to share with Tristan in that moment.

They took off their armor, bracelets, girdles and everything that would make it more uncomfortable than it already would be to sleep on the ground. Galahad kept his tunic and his cloak, since it was already very cold and it wasn’t even completely dark.

They didn’t light a fire, since it would be useless with the rain, so Galahad decided to take his dinner inside the tent. But when he was about to go in, he realized something.

“Who will stay up for the first watch?” Galahad asked without looking at him.

“No need for one of us to stay awake,” he said, and Galahad then turned to look at him for a second. Tristan was sitting on a rock, taking off his laced up boots. “I don’t think there are many enemies this deep into the woods and with this weather.”

Galahad bit the inside of his mouth, but he didn’t oppose. If they had been a larger group he would’ve argued, but it made sense and he was pretty tired. So he took a sharp dagger just in case and went into the tent. Galahad’s lips twitched in almost a grimace when he saw the furs extended on the ground inside; a couple of them to cover the dirt and another one acting as a blanket. But definitely only one spot to sleep in.

“We only brought those,” Tristan said behind him, as if he was hearing his thoughts.

Galahad jumped a little at how close he was, the scout still half inside the tent, half outside, but he was going to have to get used to that for the night. After all, they were going to be within arm’s reach of one another.

He finally sat as close to one of the tent’s walls as he could, allowing Tristan to enter, too. Galahad stared at his own hands while he unwrapped the dried meat and bread they had taken as supplies while he could see Tristan doing the same out of the corner of his eye. The ball of tension and anger that had accompanied him that day was there again, buried deep inside his chest, and with each movement Tristan made, it stirred, like an animal growling. But he knew very well why he was so mad, and it had nothing to do with the storm having forced them to camp in that small space. When Tristan moved one of his legs and brushed Galahad’s knee with his, his stomach dropped, as if he needed a reminder of how his heart ached for Tristan’s touch, for the sound of his voice, and even for his very sight, which he was denying himself by looking at him only when it was necessary.

They stayed silent while they ate, as the storm began to rage outside and the rain started to hit the tent even through the many branches of the tree they had chosen, the leather walls brightening every time a lightning pierced the sky.

When they finished eating, Tristan took one of the wineskins they had brought and took a sip. Then, he held it towards him. Galahad accepted it and took a gulp from it. For a second, he thought about continuing to drink it until the wineskin was empty, leaving Tristan none of it, but feeling his mind number than how it was in that moment. Maybe that way his head would touch the ground and he would fall asleep instantly, not having to endure any more of that night. But he stopped himself after another sip and grudgingly gave Tristan the wine back. Then, without any other word, he turned to face the wall and lay down, covering himself with the cloak and fur. He heard a sound coming from Tristan’s side of the tent, but Galahad thought maybe he had imagined it. That the huffed laugh he thought he had heard was only in his imagination, that Tristan wasn’t really shaking his head at him in that moment, mocking his temper. But even if he tried to hold onto that thought, the knot of anger inside him tightened even more.

He stubbornly resisted raising his head or turning to look at the scout, so he resigned himself to listen; listen to the older knight moving the things he had brought into the tent with him to be able to lie back, listen to the man blowing out the candle that had lightened the tent, which caused it to go dark; and finally, listen to him moving the fur away and lying down too close to Galahad, although their bodies didn’t make any contact at all.

Once they were finally in the dark and in silence, Galahad started noticing things he hadn’t before, too focused on the man and his own anger: the thunder that sounded like a beast’s roar, the wind whistling through the trees and branches, hitting their tent and making it shudder… and finally, the cold. He had not noticed it until then, but the air had turned _so_ cold. Even if they had been perfectly capable to keep the early spring chill at bay all day, they were now in the middle of nowhere with the night upon them and a storm passing over them, and he was actually surprised it was raining, and not snowing.

Galahad hugged himself under the cloak and the fur, curing over himself a little. In that moment, he regretted taking the leather off with the rest of the other garments. Even if it would’ve been much more uncomfortable to sleep with it, he wouldn’t be as cold as he was starting to get in that moment.

He felt Tristan shifting behind him, and then his deep voice filled the silence again.

“Move closer, Galahad,” Tristan said, and his heart skipped a beat. He clenched his jaw again. “We’re going to freeze if we don’t keep ourselves warm.”

Galahad shut his eyes at the thought. Moving closer to him, just enough so their bodies would be pressed together, enough so they would be sharing the heat… It was pure logic, but Galahad stayed still anyway. Or, at least, at still as he could, since he was shivering.

“Galahad-“

“All right, I’m moving,” he said, not wanting to listen to his arguments again, especially when he was right.

Galahad leaned against his elbow and pushed himself backwards, not wanting to turn around. He bumped into Tristan’s back with a little too much force, and lay down again. When he draped the fur over his shoulders once again, he sighed despite himself, feeling the warmth coming from the other’s body.

He felt the cold receding almost instantly, but he was still trembling a little. Because now he could feel Tristan’s back muscles against him, and he felt his throat tightening and the tears he had managed to keep at bay threatening to fall from his eyes now. Because how could he be so close and yet so far away from him…? He tried to stay completely still, tried to drown the sobs that were amassing in his chest… But when the first tear rolled from his eye and got lost in between the fur and his hairline, he couldn’t help a little sound to come out of his throat. Galahad froze, sure that there was no way that Tristan hadn’t heard that in the confined space they were in, but hoping for it anyway. And then he heard Tristan huffing again. The same sound he had heard when he had lied down, so he shut his eyes again, trembling even more.

“I can’t believe you,” Tristan said then in a bitter voice. “So dreadful you think of my proximity that it even brings you to tears…?”

“Shut up,” Galahad said, hoping that his voice didn’t sound as broken as he thought it did. And then, much to his regret, he heaved out a laugh. “You must be enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Torturing me like this.”

Galahad opened his eyes again, focusing on the tent’s dark wall now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but he didn’t move. Tristan was silent for so long, that Galahad wondered if he had even fallen asleep, unconcerned about his words. But then, he sensed Tristan’s back tensing a little, as if he was craning his neck backwards.

“ _I am_ torturing you…? Well, forgive me if I preferred not freezing over rather than letting your majesty come near me for a night.”

“You know too damn well about my feelings for you, so don’t pretend now that you’re not _pleased_ at tormenting me like this…” Galahad said, wiping a finger to erase another tear that fell from his eyes.

“Hold on, what did you say?”

“Sure, act innocently now. Just… go to sleep.”

Galahad tightened the embrace around his chest and tried to bury his face even deeper inside the fur. But apparently Tristan wasn’t going to let it go, because the next thing he felt was the man turning around and sitting up behind him, the cold they had avoided by moving closer hitting him with the new gap between them.

“Ga- Galahad.”

“Leave me alone.”

“No,” he said, but as firm as the word was, the man’s voice faltered, and Galahad furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

He didn’t know exactly what kind of game Tristan was playing in that moment, but he still refused to look at him, to let him see his drying tears.

“You know exactly what I mean. You knew damn well when you mocked me with that kiss.”

“Mock- Galahad,” Tristan said again, and then he touched his shoulder.

Galahad sat up, turning around swiftly and swatting Tristan’s hand in one movement. He looked at the scout frowning and felt another tear betraying him and going down his cheek.

“Don’t touch me…”

“All right, forgive me,” he said, raising both hands as if to let him know he didn’t mean to repeat it. Then, he pressed both palms flat on the ground, and he bowed his head a little towards him. “Why do you say that I mocked you?”

Galahad frowned again, shaking his head a little.

“What other motive would you possibly have to tease me in front of the others, and then kiss me the moment you realized the reason why their words annoyed me so?”

“Galahad… The wine may have emboldened my actions that night, but I kissed you solely because I wanted- No. Because I _needed_ to.”

Galahad closed his eyes, shaking his head and swallowing. He wished to be far away from there, he wished he hadn’t accepted this mission…

“What are you- Why are you doing this? Do you really enjoy seeing me suffer?”

“Galahad, damn it,” the scout said, and _that_ made him open his eyes.

He had never heard the scout’s voice so altered, nor his face reflecting so many things, that Galahad didn’t even know what to focus on. Tristan moved closer to him, and that time, when the man raised a hand and hesitantly moved it until his fingers carefully met Galahad’s cheek, he allowed it. He allowed it and stayed completely still, because he didn’t understand anything at all. And then, Tristan smiled a little, and that threw him off even more.

“Galahad, I kissed you because I’ve wanted to do it since… Hell, since longer than I can remember. I’ve been silently hiding these feelings and trying to bury them while they burned me from the inside, because I thought they were neither proper nor requited… Until the other night, when I could no longer continue doing so. And when you rejected me…”

“I didn’t reject you…” Galahad said, his lips moving of his own accord.

Tristan arched his eyebrows and let his hand slip away from his face. Galahad missed the touch even before it completely left.

“It certainly looked like it.”

Galahad then recalled that night. The other knights mocking him about all the women he had lain with, according to them. Tristan finally speaking up, almost like he was angry about it, like it bothered him. Tristan following him to Galahad’s chamber, asking him about why their words upset him… And finally, Tristan kissing him when Galahad had almost confessed to him the reason.

And then, Galahad chuckled and his lips stretched out, because he couldn’t believe he had been so stubborn and blind. Because he couldn’t believe he had seen mockery, when Tristan was actually laying his own feelings out in front of him. He couldn’t believe they had both been _so_ foolish.

“You… You kissed me because you really wanted to,” he said, even though Tristan himself had said it already.

“Yes. How could you think I was mocking you with a kiss?” Tristan asked him, but there was no taunt in his voice, only true curiosity.

Galahad shook his head and shrugged a little.

“I never believed you could ever… return my feelings for you. Not in a million years,” Galahad said.

“And I thought you were repulsed by _my_ feelings after the kiss…” Tristan said. “I thought I had misinterpreted all the signs, and that it was why you were so angry at me.”

Galahad laughed; one single laugh that filled the tent as loud as the thunders. Then another followed, and another. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest, as if he had been drowning and he had finally been able to reach the surface and take a gulp of air.

And then something else happened: Tristan smiled. Not the usual shadow of a smile that could only be guessed by the people who knew the knight well enough. And not the little smile he had given him only seconds ago. That time, his lips stretched, widening and showing sharp teeth that glistened even in the dark, the skin around his eyes wrinkling a little. And it was the most beautiful thing Galahad had ever seen.

“Galahad…” Tristan told him in almost a whisper.

“Yes?”

Tristan didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled himself up and sat on his heels, getting much closer to Galahad, who couldn’t move a muscle.

The scout raised his hands, taking his face in them again, that time much more confidently. When Galahad felt the touch back, his breathing faltered, and when Tristan leaned forwards, his heart thudded inside his chest like a horse’s hooves stomping against the ground. He could not believe it was really happening, so he just closed his eyes, waiting for the kiss, feeling Tristan’s fingers brushing the curls in his nape… But when the contact didn’t come, he opened his eyes again. Tristan was staring at him, so close that Galahad almost couldn’t focus his face, and it reminded him of the night he had kissed him, and how he had only been able to see the tattoos on his cheeks right before feeling Tristan’s lips over his own.

“Galahad…” the scout repeated, and he swallowed, fearing everything was going to shatter. That it had all been a deceit, that it was, in truth, too good to be true… But the man looked from Galahad’s eyes to his lips, and back to them. “If you don’t feel the same by any chance, please stop me now, please speak now. If you do that, I will not hold a grudge against you, I swear. I will be certainly devastated, but I hope I will be able to heal, with time. But if you let me… if you let me kiss you, if you let this go any further… I fear not even time could heal me.”

Galahad’s heart skipped a beat again at his words, and he felt his chest tightening with the sad look Tristan gave him in that moment, probably thinking about the possibility of Galahad denying him. And then, right there, Galahad realized he didn’t just like the scout. That he didn’t just like the sharp lines of his face, or the way he sometimes hid behind the strands of his hair, or the way he seemed to dance when he fought, wielding his sword and moving his feet with the grace of a feline and as quick as a hawk falling from the sky. That he didn’t just like the way the man always seemed so composed, or how he used to encourage him in the training field when he was not mocking his inexperience. Galahad realized, just there, in that exact moment, that he was actually in love with him. That all the anger he had felt had been the result of thinking the man he loved was not how he had thought he was.

Galahad smiled warmly then, and he finally moved for the first time since the conversation had started. Unable to speak, he took Tristan by the back of his neck to pull him closer, and then he finally closed the distance between them with a kiss. The second their lips met, his stomach dropped like he was falling from a great height even if he knew he was still, his knees and legs firmly planted on the furs. But his entire body felt liquid, because he was actually kissing Tristan, his lips against the scout’s, his fingers entwining freely among the soft strands of hair, and it was the best thing Galahad had ever felt.

He felt Tristan’s fingertips descending to grip his tunic at his sides, and Galahad answered by parting his lips. When he felt the man’s tongue sliding into his mouth, he half moaned, half growled against him. Galahad dragged his other hand over Tristan’s chest, and when he felt the ridges of his ribs under the garment, he slid his hand around his torso to encircle his back and pull him even closer. Tristan apparently was encouraged by the gesture, because one of his hands travelled to his hip, and then the scout pushed him backwards without breaking the kiss. Galahad let him, leaning backwards with him, and when his back touched the ground covered with furs, he used the arm he had around Tristan’s back to pull him downwards. The scout tried to support himself on an elbow, but the movement mostly made his body fall on top of Galahad, and he chuckled against Tristan’s lips.

They pulled back and looked at each other for a moment while they caught their breaths, and they smiled again. Tristan’s hair was dangling over Galahad’s cheeks, so he raised a hand and combed it back, having wished to do that for so long, and enjoying the way he could feel Tristan’s chest rising and falling against his own, but also how he could feel his breathing in the hand Galahad still had on his broad back.

Tristan then descended once again. He kissed him much slower, their tongues brushing secret patterns inside the other’s mouth, their hands exploring the lines of their bodies over their clothes, their breaths getting more and more ragged with each kiss and each touch. Galahad felt like he was alight, the cold they had felt long gone and forgotten.

When he felt Tristan’s lips beginning to descend across his chin and down his jaw and throat, he tipped his head back and heard himself moaning softly. Galahad felt his entire skin burning, but especially on the places Tristan’s lips drew a path down his neck, leaving wet kisses over his stubble while the scout’s free hand was firmly pressed against his waist.

When the man returned to Galahad’s lips, he kissed him once again, but he pulled back after that, and he looked down at him through heavy lidded eyes.

“Maybe we should rest… We still have a few hours of journey tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want us to fall from our horses for not resting properly.”

Galahad groaned, because he knew Tristan was, once again, right. But he just wanted to keep kissing the man’s lips, keep feeling the muscles of his back rippling beneath his fingers…

“I hate when you’re right, you know…?”

“Believe me, right now I also hate myself a little for this,” he said, and Galahad chuckled.

Tristan smirked, letting his lips hover over Galahad’s without kissing him, their noses brushing each other. Tristan finally pressed his forehead against his with a sigh, and they stayed still, Galahad’s arms around the scout’s neck, the hand Tristan had in his waist, squeezing a little. When he sighed too, Galahad suddenly realized how tired he really was. They had been traveling all day, and the tension he had felt had only exhausted him even more. So when Tristan pulled back, he was actually glad they had decided to pause things for now. They would have plenty of time to explore whatever that was between them once they returned to the garrison.

Still, Tristan seemed like he wanted to say something else, so Galahad raised his eyebrows.

“What?” he asked, and Tristan averted his eyes for a second.

“Could I… hold you? While we sleep?”

Galahad bit his lower lip to try to repress the smile that crept onto his lips, but it sprang free anyway.

“Yes…” he nodded. And then, just so the other knew Galahad wasn’t agreeing to something he didn’t actually want himself, he added: “Please.”

He turned around in Tristan’s arms, and after pulling the cloak and fur back over the both of them, the man settled behind him. He slid a hand under Galahad’s head, wrapped him with the other, and pressed his chest to his back. Tristan still seemed hesitant about touching him, so Galahad took the other’s hand and set it over his stomach. Tristan tightened the embrace around him in answer, pulling him even closer to him.

When Galahad finally fell asleep, the storm had been forgotten, both the one that was still making the sky above their heads rumble, and the one that had kept him awake at night the previous days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as a promised you, a much longer chapter!! :) And look, they finally talked!! 
> 
> I have already finished writing the fic, so I'll be publishing daily as soon as I can :)
> 
> Thank you SO much for all the love you're giving me with this fic, seriously. There aren't enough heart emojis for how grateful I am♥️♥️


	4. Chapter 4

A soldier stationed on the wall yelled a command, and the gates of the camp opened before their horses. When Galahad and Tristan went inside, a few soldiers bowed their heads slightly, greeting two of Arthur’s Sarmatians knights. They went straight to the stable, where a boy took their horses as soon as they dismounted.

“Tristan! Galahad!”

They both looked up as Lancelot came into the stables, and their brother greeted them with a pat on Galahad’s shoulder and a nod to Tristan.

“Arthur told me to send you to him as soon as you arrived. He was concerned for you.”

They thanked Lancelot and, after leaving their swords and bows, they made their way towards the room where they knew they would find Arthur, the same in which he had given them the instructions for the mission. As they walked through the hallways, their hands brushed at one point, and Galahad felt a crawling sensation under his skin while he ducked his head, trying to hide a smile.

That morning he had woken up alone in the tent, and after the initial disappointment, he had found Tristan outside preparing a hare he had hunted for breakfast. Galahad greeted the scout, and then they proceeded to eat the animal in silence as they shot quick glances at each other. Galahad blushed every time he felt the knight’s eyes on him, and every time he looked up, the other would avert his eyes with a faint smile curling the corner of his lips.

As it turned out, Galahad wasn’t the only one who was shy about the situation, the only one who didn’t even know how to approach something as new and unknown as having discovered that his feelings were requited after all.

In a tacit agreement, they decided to pack their things and get underway to return as soon as possible. But now that they were back in the camp, they just had to wait a little longer to be finally alone after they reported to Arthur.

Tristan was the first to arrive to the door, so he knocked and a voice asked them to come in.

“Ah, there you are,” Arthur said as soon as he saw them.

Arthur gripped their forearms in greeting, and then he circled the table on which the map stood, exactly as two days before.

“What happened? Did you encounter any enemies?” he asked, his tone changed into the voice of their leader, probably unconsciously.

“Not exactly,” Tristan said, linking his hands together before him as he stood, his posture relaxed but firm. “The place was more half a day from here, and the storm caught us when we still weren’t close to the garrison, so we decided to camp.”

“Good idea, then,” Arthur said, nodding. “What about the mission?”

In that moment, Tristan turned to him and Galahad returned his gaze, frowning a little. But then he understood what the scout was doing; he was giving him the opportunity to speak, to report to Arthur himself. Galahad cleared his throat and straightened his back before turning to their commander.

“We, uh… We found the Woads’ camp, but they were long gone when we arrived. There was barely anything left, they were probably there on a reconnaissance mission.”

“I imagined that would be the case. They were probably back to the north of the wall even before you left here.”

Arthur sighed, his eyes already navigating the map, probably devising his next plan, and then he nodded, looking at them.

“All right, good job, nonetheless. Go take a bath and have some lunch, you two must be tired. We will gather around the Round Table later to inform the others.”

They nodded, and Arthur turned his attention again to the map, so they both understood that that was the moment to leave.

They walked out the door and through the hallway almost too quickly, but they hadn’t even completely turned the corner when Galahad felt Tristan’s hand gripping his elbow and pulling him backwards. Tristan pushed him against a pillar, and Galahad was only able to gasp in surprise before Tristan was on him, both of his hands gripping the clothes at his sides and his forehead pressed against Galahad’s, a few strands of his hair tickling him. Galahad smiled, because he had feared he would be the only one eager to touch the knight again, but it seemed like he was definitely not.

“What if someone sees us?” Galahad asked in a faltering voice, but he wrapped an arm around the other’s waist and nuzzled Tristan’s nose, not _that_ concerned about his own words.

“This hallway leads only to the Round Table and the strategy room...”

One of Tristan’s hands skimmed up across Galahads’ ribs, and even through his clothes and the leather chest plate he was still wearing, he felt a shiver running up his skin at his touch. Galahad bit his lower lip, and leaned forwards…

“Tristan!”

The scout moved backwards swiftly, and he pulled his lips inward in a clear gesture of frustration. Galahad would’ve laughed if he weren’t equally as frustrated at hearing Arthur’s voice from the end of the hallway. Tristan finally pulled himself together, and he stepped out from behind the pillar so he would be visible to Arthur. Galahad pursed his lips, trying not to laugh at seeing Tristan’s perfectly collected and calm expression –or, at least, as it seemed. Galahad was learning that the scout may have been very good at concealing his emotions, but he was most definitely not unfamiliar to them.

“Yes?”

“I need to speak to you alone for a moment. It won’t be long.”

Tristan nodded, and then he looked at Galahad, so he assumed Arthur had returned to the room.

“I have to…”

“I know,” Galahad nodded, still leaning against the pillar. “Don’t worry.”

Tristan moved closer to him again, and Galahad felt his stomach dropping at his proximity, but also because Arthur was waiting for him, and instead of going immediately, he was lingering with him.

Tristan leaned forwards, cradling Galahad’s neck with a hand before pressing his lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, barely a brush, and it was gone more quickly than Galahad would’ve wished, but he let out a low sigh when Tristan pulled slowly back.

“Will I see you later?” Tristan asked him, running his thumb from the corner of Galahad’s lip to his chin.

“Of course.”

Tristan gave him a little smile and then he pulled completely away, going back to the room where Arthur was waiting.

It took Galahad a long moment to be able to move, and when he did, he went to the baths. Since most of the soldiers and knights would be training or eating by then, he took a bath completely alone. Then he went to the main hall to have a late lunch. He looked around the room every couple of seconds, waiting to see Tristan’s face appear amongst the knights that were still laughing and eating. But he finished his meal without any trace of him, so Galahad went out of the hall ready to go look for him, when a hand stopped him and made him turn around.

“Wha- Gawain?”

“Gal! Thank all the gods that you’re all right. I was beginning to worry about you when you two didn’t appear yesterday…”

Galahad smiled, and shook his head.

“I’m fine, we just got caught up in the storm and had to camp for the night.”

In that moment, Gawain looked around, as if he was about to tell him something that required secrecy. Then he just started walking down the hallway without letting go of Galahad’s arm.

“What are you doing…? Gawain!”

He didn’t stop until they had left the main halls behind and had gone into the hallways in which the knights had their rooms. Galahad recognized the door of his own room right before Gawain opened it and pushed him inside before closing it again.

“What on earth are you doing?” Galahad asked him as he rubbed the place where Gawain had gripped his forearm.

“All right, tell me everything. Did you solve your problem with the _he_ you were talking about the other night…?”

Galahad stopped the movement of his fingers and looked up at his friend. Gawain was blocking the door and had a silly smile on his face. Galahad felt himself flushing instantly, so he turned around with a frown and looked down, trying to hide it.

“I don’t know what you’re- I’ve been out on a mission for more than a day, I haven’t done _anything_.”

“So you haven’t continued ‘hating his dumb face’ or fixed whatever it was that had you drinking senseless the other night…?”

“What? I told you, I’ve been out on-”

“A mission, yes,” Gawain repeated, elongating his words. “With Tristan.”

Galahad turned around slowly. He took in Gawain’s expression, his slightly tilted head, the smirk on his lips… He felt almost light-headed at the realization.

“What are you- How do you know-” he blurted, unable to focus on a single of the dozen questions that flooded through him.

“Oh come on, Galahad, of _course_ I know,” Gawain said finally, approaching him and seizing Galahad’s shoulders with both hands. “You’ve been enraptured with Tristan since the first day you came here.”

“What the hell, Gawain, be quiet!” Galahad said, pushing the knight away from him and going to the door. He opened it and leaned out to make sure there was nobody else in the hallway, and then he closed the door again with a sigh.

“Calm down, Galahad, will you? Nobody is going to hear us.”

“No, I will not calm down! How- When? Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

Gawain smiled warmly and went to the only chair in Galahad’s room, which he rarely used, but that his friend put to good use now, sprawling in it.

“I knew because I’m not a complete fool and because I’m your friend, and I’ve had to endure you talking about him ever since we were young. And I didn’t tell you because I was waiting for _you_ to tell me. But since that didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon…”

Galahad groaned, mortified, and went to his bed, where he flopped down at the edge and buried his face in his hands.

“So… are you all right with it?” he finally asked his friend after a brief moment of silence.

“With you being infatuated with one of my brothers-in-arms? Well, I’m not going to lie, I don’t want the details,” he said, and Galahad looked at him between two of his fingers. Gawain seemed to be joking, but Galahad groaned again.

“So does everybody know?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I worked _very_ hard to give you a reputation with the ladies, and the rest completely believe in it. Do you know how _hard_ was to do that when everybody called you Galahad the Pure?”

Galahad let his hands fall over the hay mattress.

“Yes, thank you very much for that…” he said wryly.

“You are very welcome,” Gawain replied, unconcerned about his tone. “But now, please tell me you at least fixed things with Tristan. I don’t know what happened between you two, but you’ve been so tense and mad, and the other night when you almost drank all the wine we had in the garrison…”

Galahad shook his head so he would stop talking. Gawain had been his closest friend from the moment he had been brought into the Sarmatian knights, since he had been the youngest until Galahad had come along. So either because Galahad had saved him from the jokes of being the most inexperienced, or because their ages were the closest, they had quickly and easily become good friends. Even so, talking about something like that with him, something that he had hidden for so long, felt strange. Still, Galahad sighed and cleared his throat.

“All right… Well. We _did_ fix it.”

“You did? Hey, I’m glad for you,” his friend said, flicking him in the leg.

“Yes, we, uhm… We kissed.”

In that moment, the smile Gawain had had on his lips all that time fell from his face. Galahad froze, wondering for a second why on earth he had told him that. But much to Galahad’s surprise and relief, it only lasted for a second, because then Gawain grinned with a wolfish smile _._

“You did _what_?” he exclaimed.

“Shh! For the love of- Shut up!” Galahad told him, looking at the door as if he expected someone to actually come in, even if nobody had ever come in uninvited in all the years he had occupied that room.

Gawain stood up from the chair then, and started pacing from the door to his bed.

“Can you stop, please? You’re making me feel ill,” Galahad said, shaking his head a little.

“But this is so big!”

“No, it’s not,” Galahad said, trying to downplay it but feeling a tug in his stomach at thinking about Tristan and what they had started the night before.

“Yes it is! Galahad.”

Gawain stopped before him and seized him by the shoulders again, shaking him a little and making him look up.

“I knew you were infatuated with him, that much was clear, but I couldn’t have- I _never_ could’ve imagined _this_!”

“Can you please lower your voice?” Galahad hissed.

“No, I can’t! Galahad, you’re telling me that Tristan, the enigmatic, emotionless Tristan… That you and _this_ Tristan have _kissed_?”

“Please stop repeating his name. And he’s _not_ emotionless!”

Gawain laughed then, a loud laugh that startled Galahad. But he finally sat in the chair again, dragging it a little closer to Galahad.

“So, what happened? Does he feel the same?”

“I thought you didn’t want any details…” Galahad said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, not _those_ details, you filthy boy. But did you… I don’t know. Talk about it? Did you _consummate_ it?”

“Oh gods, I’m not going to tell you that!” Galahad said, wrinkling his nose.

“Galahad-”

“No! This conversation has ended.”

It was Galahad’s turn to stand up, and he went out of his room without waiting for his friend to follow him. Gawain reached him soon enough, and he kept asking him about it while Galahad only gave him half answers. When they went out to the main courtyard, Bors approached them and Galahad was thankful for the interruption, as Gawain finally stopped talking.

Since Tristan was nowhere to be seen, Galahad stayed with Bors and Gawain, easily talking about everything and nothing at the same time. However, it wasn’t that long until Arthur summoned all of them, as he had said he would do. Galahad felt his skin prickling and his heartbeat quickening as he walked through the hall and entered into the Round Table room. When he saw Tristan standing in his usual spot, he couldn’t help the flip his stomach gave or the way his breathing hitched, if only for a second. Gawain took the seat at Tristan’s right, and Galahad at his friend’s side, as they always did.

Once all the knights had taken their place, Arthur nodded across them, and they sat. Their commander told the rest of the men what Tristan and Galahad had seen, and he informed them that they would go on a new mission, this time all of them together. They would depart the following week to make sure there was no more activity from the Woads on their side of the wall, and they proceeded to discuss the different routes they could take and the towns and inns in which they could rest during the nights.

Galahad tried to focus only on Arthur’s words, or on the other knights who spoke. But as much as he tried not to look over at Tristan, he couldn’t help but feeling as if the other was staring at him all the time. He _knew_ Tristan wasn’t, that he would be paying attention, and still, he couldn’t help the persistent feeling.

When Arthur stood up and raised his cup of wine, they all rose to their feet, taking their own drinks in hand. Galahad used that moment to glance at Tristan, and much to his surprise, the scout _was_ looking at him. They both looked away at the same time, and Galahad felt himself blushing as they all took a sip from their drinks, as they always did when the gatherings came to an end.

When the knights went out of the room, Bors draped one arm over Gawain’s neck and the other over Galahad’s, causing him to hunch under the weight of another body.

“Now we can finally go drink in earnest!” Bors roared, and both Gawain and Dagonet shouted in agreement. “Come on, boy, cheer up,” he said then, turning to Galahad and shaking him under his heavy arm. “You’ve been an entire day with Sir Joy and returned alive, you deserve far more than a drink.”

Bors looked backwards, most probably to Tristan, but there was no answer to his tease and Bors just chuckled.

Galahad thought about rejecting the idea of going with the knights to drink in the tavern. He wanted and needed to talk to Tristan, to see him alone, but he knew what it would look like if he said no after having just returned from a mission, and especially if both of them disappeared immediately. So he sighed and nodded.

“Sure, let’s have a drink!” he said, trying to instill excitement in his voice and letting Bors drag him along with the rest.

In the tavern, Bors put an entire pitcher of clay in his hand before he even could order anything. Galahad just sipped the drink while he observed the knights horsing around, the atmosphere so lively that Galahad found himself smiling widely despite his initial reservations.

Dagonet and Bors were playing with a knife, trying not to stab themselves while sticking the blade in the wooden table between their fingers, Bors clearly losing at the game judging by the few cuts he already had, Lancelot was flirting with one of the maids, as usual, and Gawain and Gareth were throwing daggers against a wooden pillar.

“Ah, damn it!” Gawain cursed when he failed his second throw.

“You’re not moving your wrist well, Gawain,” Galahad told him, mostly to mock him.

“I’m sorry, if you think you can do it better, why don’t you come here and throw it yourself?” Gawain asked, raising both eyebrows. He tossed his last in the air and took it by the handle when it landed back in his hand.

Galahad took another small sip from his drink and left it on the table before going to his friend, accepting the challenge. He took the dagger and stood in the place the other two knights had occupied before. He measured the weight of the weapon in his hand, and then looked up, trying to look around discreetly, searching for one face in particular... But he didn’t see Tristan, and he pursed his lips. In an attempt to be subtle, he had tried not to look at the knight that much, so in that moment he realized he didn’t know if Tristan had gone away. What if he had thought Galahad was more interested in staying there drinking with the rest of the men than in seeing him…?

“Preferably today, Gal,” Gawain told him with a smirk on his lips.

Galahad shook his head and looked at the wooden pillar. Then he raised his arm with the dagger in hand and threw it in a swift movement. The blade was stuck in the exact place where he had aimed, now being the highest and most centered of the daggers that were already stabbed in the pillar.

He smiled, proud of his throw, and turned to see Gawain’s annoyed but amused face at being defeated. But in that moment, another dagger darted in front of him. Galahad stepped back, startled, and looked at the new knife, sticking perfectly beside his own, only a couple of inches from one to other. He turned and saw Tristan there, raising his cup in that moment to hide a little smile.

“How do you two _do_ that?” Gawain asked, shaking his head in disbelief even though Galahad knew his friend was already aware that Tristan and he were the best shooters of all the knights.

“I aimed for the middle,” Tristan said simply. “And I’m sure Galahad did so as well.”

Galahad bit his lower lip to try not to beam like a fool, but a smile still appeared on his lips, and he had to turn around to hide it while the rest of the knights returned to drinking and their own conversations.

After that, Galahad waited until he had drank a little of the pitcher and then he excused himself, saying he was still tired from the mission. Bors tried to convince him not to retire so soon, but Gawain told the older knight to leave the _pup_ alone, since it had been his first mission. Galahad knew he was actually saying it so he could go, and he tried to remember to thank his friend the following day.

He glanced one last time at Tristan, who was sitting beside Dagonet but not engaged in the rest of the men’s conversations. Their eyes met for a second, sharing everything they needed to say in that moment in a quick look.

Galahad left the tavern, his heart pounding in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is probably a less interesting chapter, but necessary nonetheless :)  
> Chapter five tomorrow! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Galahad knew he had not drunk enough to even feel the effects of the alcohol. He had spent more time pretending to drink than actually drinking, if only for the rest of the knights’ sakes. And yet, as he walked through the hallways towards his room, he felt giddy and breathless.

When he finally made it to his room and closed the door behind him, he just couldn’t stay still. He lit two candles, and then he paced in the middle of the room just as Gawain had done a few hours before, trying in vain to still his heart. He was as nervous as he had been the day the soldiers came to his home, tall as giants, and claimed him to join Artorius’ knights, as he had already known would be his destiny. His heart was beating as quickly as the day he had arrived at the garrison and the knights who claimed to be his brothers-in-arms had surrounded him to greet him.

But that night, the reason of his nervousness was something else entirely, and he ran a hand over his face, trying to even his breathing and not quite accomplishing it. And then, a low knock sounded at the door.

Galahad swung it open and grabbed the knight’s forearm to pull him inside and close the door behind them.

“Did anyone ask you why you were leaving?” Galahad asked, turning to him.

Tristan’s lips turned slightly upwards and he shook his head. “No. Don’t worry, I’m used to slipping away without being noticed.”

Galahad nodded, relaxing and smiling too. He realized they were _finally_ alone, again, and he just stood there, unsure of where to start. Galahad cleared his throat, but then Tristan spoke first.

“I’m sorry I was not able to come find you all day. Arthur kept occupied much longer than I would’ve liked, and I very much needed a bath,” he said, shrugging a little, an innocent, apologetic expression taking over his face that made Galahad want to propel himself towards him to kiss it away.

“It’s all right. I just… really wanted to talk to you.”

“So did I.”

Tristan took a couple of steps towards him, and Galahad moved back until he leaned his back against the door. Not because he didn’t want the knight to come closer, though, but because he felt like he needed the support.

“Do you want to know what Arthur wished to discuss?” Tristan asked, stopping right before him.

Galahad frowned slightly, not expecting him to start the conversation with that particular subject, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, he wanted to ask me how you did on your first mission without the group.”

“Oh,” Galahad said. He had not thought about it, but of course it made sense that Arthur wanted to ask Tristan that, it being his first mission. “And… what did you tell him?”

“You know… That you were stubborn, a bit insubordinate, and that you kissed me.”

Galahad hit him in the shoulder, knowing he was just joking, and the scout smiled immediately. Galahad grabbed his tunic and pulled him lightly towards him, so Tristan took another step that left them very close. Tristan put both hands flat against the door next to Galahad’s shoulders, and he leaned a bit forwards.

“I told him the truth. That you are skilled and showed initiative, even if your anger towards me clouded your judgment for a moment, but that didn’t stop you from carrying out the mission,” he said in a low voice, and Galahad looked him in the eyes. “Well, perhaps I didn’t phrase it that way. I didn’t want to give him more reasons to think I favor you.”

“Why would Arthur think that?” Galahad asked, frowning.

“Well, I did insist on you for the mission.”

“You did what?” Galahad asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Tristan moved back a little, just barely, and his brow twitched almost imperceptibly. “Arthur didn’t tell you?”

“No…” he said. “What do you mean you insisted on me?”

“Arthur told me he wanted you to accompany me for the mission, but he had noticed that there was some kind of strain between us. He said he could select another of the men to accompany me if it would be a problem, but I told him I wanted you to come with me.”

Galahad’s lips stretched in a smile before he was conscious of it. “You… asked for me? Why? If you thought I despised you in that moment…”

“I… actually wanted to use the time alone to talk to you, try to apologize,” he admitted, looking down for a moment. “But every time I thought about telling you anything, I was afraid I would make it even worse…”

Galahad remembered the moment when the knight had told him that he could turn down the mission if he wasn’t up to it, that he would ask Arthur for another partner. Galahad had thought that Tristan doubted his skills, but the truth had been so different… And he remembered too how tense and mad he had been during the entire day of the mission.

Galahad looked down for a moment and smiled warmly.

“I’m sorry I behaved so foolishly.”

“You didn’t… You thought I was mocking you.” Tristan put his index finger under Galahad’s chin to tilt his head up. “And I’ve never exactly been the most forthright person.”

Galahad nodded as a way of telling him that that _was_ true, and Tristan chuckled, pressing his hand back to the door.

“Nevertheless, that’s not the only reason I asked Arthur for you as a partner,” Tristan continued, and Galahad raised an eyebrow, inviting him to go on. “You _are_ a great and skilled knight, Galahad. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“I thought I was merely an inexperienced pup…” he teased, despite feeling his heart skipping a beat at his praise.

Tristan leaned forwards, and when Galahad felt the scout’s nose brushing his cheek, he closed his eyes and parted his lips in a soft gasp.

“I’m afraid you will always be both one of the bravest warriors I’ve ever known _and_ a pup to me,” he whispered in his ear, and Galahad felt a warm feeling spreading in the lower part of his belly.

When Tristan started to pull away, Galahad couldn’t bear the distance anymore, so he gripped Tristan’s tunic at his sides and pulled him closer again, capturing his mouth with his own. He started slowly kissing and sucking at Tristan’s lower lip, but when Tristan parted his lips and breathed heavily against his mouth, Galahad gripped the other’s clothes even harder and slid his tongue out. He licked at Tristan’s lips as he half breathed out, half moaned, and then Tristan pushed him and pinned down Galahad against the door while he deepened the kiss.

Galahad raised both arms to wrap them around Tristan’s shoulders as the other did the opposite, dropping both hands. His fingers skimmed over the skin of his bare thighs, and Galahad felt his hesitation, as if Tristan wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. He took one of the scout’s hands in his and guided it to his skin, firmly planting his palm on the upper part of his thigh. Tristan’s fingers sank quickly into the bare skin in answer, exploring and touching as much as they could as if he was a starved man in front of a banquet. And Galahad immediately loved the sensation, his stomach swooping when Tristan’s fingers dared to climb a little higher, sliding under the seam of his underpants and reaching the swell of his ass. Tristan swallowed Galahad’s moan into the kiss, but when the man’s thigh pressed against his groin, Galahad had to break the kiss, dropping his head back as he groaned and arched against him, chasing the friction.

“Galahad… Do you want- Do you want me to stop?” Tristan asked him in between uneven gasps.

“Fuck, Tristan…” he muttered, and he forced himself to look at him. “Not for all the gold in the fucking world.”

Tristan smirked then, and heaved out a laugh. “You really are _not_ that pure, are you…?”

“Shut up,” he answered, smiling at the joke in spite of himself, pulling him to his mouth once again.

Tristan then tightened the grip of his fingers on his thighs and pulled up, lifting him from the ground and holding him against the door. Galahad linked his feet at his back and entwined his fingers in his hair.

“To- to the bed,” Galahad said in between kisses.

Tristan did as he asked and moved away from the door, still carrying him. Galahad broke the kiss while they moved, but they stared at each other, breathing in pants against the other’s mouth. When Tristan finally put a knee on the mattress and left him on top of the furs, Galahad smiled, craning his neck and using his grip on the strands of hair to pull him down for another kiss, licking into his mouth as the scout settled over him.

Galahad knew he was more than hard, his cock stirring and aching with every touch, but when Tristan bucked downwards and their erections met, he felt like he was about to set on fire as they both moaned at the same time.

“Have you ever done this before?” Tristan asked him, staying very still on top of him.

“Not with another man,” Galahad said, huffing out a strangled laugh as he tried to contain the need to move his hips, to squirm underneath Tristan and repeat what they had done a second before.

“With women, then?”

“Wom _an_ ,” he specified, and he smiled when Tristan cocked an eyebrow with interest. “I never thought we would be doing this… ever. So I tried, but decided that it wasn’t for me. And you?”

“A few women. A couple of men. People that I have only seen once, whom I cannot remember by name or face. I tried, too, to forget you… But it didn’t quite work.”

Galahad dropped his eyes from the other’s to his cheekbones, to the shape of his nose, to his reddened and swollen lips, to the beard encaging them, and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in this throat when he swallowed. When he returned to his eyes, he thought how strange it was that they had affected each other as much as they had without them knowing about it. He wondered if things would’ve been different if he had been bolder and had confessed his feelings to the scout, or if Tristan had dared to kiss him earlier. But Galahad decided that he did not care; that the only thing he cared about was that they were both there in that moment, together, their bodies pressed close… and that he wanted more, much more.

“Good,” he said simply.

Galahad finally rolled his hips up, feeling Tristan’s erection against his own, and they both groaned. When Tristan moved again, it was to start kissing a path down his neck and towards his chest, where he began to unlace Galahad’s tunic as he kissed every patch of new skin he revealed. Galahad moaned loudly when Tristan reached his nipples and pressed his tongue flat to lick and suck them. Galahad frowned, looking down at him to see if Tristan was surprised or horrified at his wanton sounds, but apparently they only encouraged the scout, who grabbed Galahad’s waist as he kept kissing, licking and sucking every single part of his chest and stomach as he pulled his clothes downward.

When Tristan looked up at him again, Galahad reached out with trembling hands to tug at the man’s clothes, letting him know that he also wanted to see, to touch, to feel. Tristan sat up between Galahad’s legs, and when he started taking off his own tunic, Galahad sat up too and slapped his hand away. Then, he undid the laces and tugged until he pulled it up Tristan’s head, throwing it across the room. He smiled when he turned to him, and then he took his own tunic, pulling it completely off and discarding it. They took the rest of their clothes off frantically as they crashed their mouths into each other again, their lips hungry for the other’s skin, their hands trying to free themselves of every piece of clothing between them as fast as they could.

When they were both finally naked, Galahad had to pull back for a second to drink in the sight. It was not the first time he had seen Tristan naked; after all, it was impossible to hide from one another when all the knights had to take a bath in a river while they were out on a mission, or even when they were in the garrison’s baths and they ran into each other there. But Galahad had never dared to take more than a quick glance at Tristan’s broad and tanned back or at the muscles and hair of his chest. But in that moment Tristan was sitting back on his heels in front of him, and there was nothing keeping Galahad from devouring him with his eyes. He reached out a hand to touch the skin, dragging his fingertips from the ridge of his collarbone across the hair of his chest, and down to his heaving belly. He let his eyes go lower still, drinking in the sight of Tristan’s hands placed over his muscular thighs, and the way his hard length twitched when Galahad laid eyes on him. When he looked up again, he gasped at the way Tristan was observing him, at both the wild hunger and immense fondness that he could see in his eyes.

“We can still go slow,” Tristan told him, his voice dropped to merely a whisper.

Galahad knew it was for his sake, so he smiled broadly. “I think we’ve waited for too long for us to go slow…”

Tristan smiled too, and then he put a hand on Galahad’s stomach to push him backwards. He lay down on his back, supporting his weight on his elbows, and waited for Tristan to crawl over him to go to his lips for another kiss… But instead, the man’s mouth stopped much, _much_ lower. When Galahad saw Tristan settling between his legs and pressing a chaste kiss to his inner thigh, he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was when the scout pressed his nose and mouth under his stirring cock, when he felt his beard and lips against the sensitive skin, that Galahad did let out a low but long sigh that turned into a shameless moan as he lost his balance and fell on his back.

Tristan gripped his length then and licked up to the head of his cock, and when he wrapped his lips around it, Galahad cried out, unconcerned of who could hear him. Because in that moment, the only thing that existed in the entire world was Tristan’s hot and wet mouth slowly swallowing him, his cheeks hollowing out when he started to suck in earnest, and his tongue spiraling around him before sinking back down.

Galahad dug his heels hard into the mattress as he covered his eyes with his hands, but he quickly removed them, because he needed to _see_ him. He did so, and when he saw Tristan’s head bobbing between his legs, the mere sight sucked the air out of his lungs. His hand moved on its own accord and he found himself once again gripping a handful of Tristan’s hair and braids. Galahad searched for a sign that told him if Tristan was bothered by it, but the scout only answered by swallowing him deeper and moaning around his cock, which sent incredible shivers up Galahad’s spine.

Tristan pulled back with an obscene wet sound and licked a last, long stroke, and Galahad almost whined at the loss of that incredible feeling. But when Tristan stood up from him and the bed, Galahad blinked, confused, as he fought to catch his breathing. The scout kneeled beside his pants, which he had taken off while Galahad had his fingers tangled in his own clothes. When he stood up again, he had a small bottle in his hand, and Galahad raised both eyebrows.

“What’s that?”

“Oil,” Tristan answered.

He returned to the bed, and Galahad reached out to touch the scout’s arms as soon as he was close enough, reveling in the damp sweat that covered Tristan’s skin as well as his own.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Galahad said quickly, not even having to stop to consider it.

Tristan smiled, and then descended to kiss him, which Galahad answered happily, their tongues licking into the other’s mouth.

“This is going to hurt a bit at first,” Tristan started to tell him, pulling back and caressing Galahad’s forehead, brushing his damp curls back, “but I’ll be careful, and if you’re uncomfortable or don’t like it, just tell me, and I will stop at once.”

Galahad nodded again, and then he smirked. “I will. But if it’s something like what you did to me a moment ago, I don’t think I’ll want you to stop, ever.”

Tristan gave him another kiss and then sat up between his legs. He first made Galahad bend his knees, as he had before, and then he removed the cork from the bottle and poured a generous amount into his hollowed out palm. He bent down to leave the bottle on the floor, and then he turned to look at him again. Galahad felt his heart pounding inside his ribcage, his muscles so tense that he only realized he was squeezing Tristan’s upper arm when the scout put his free hand flat on his stomach in a soothing caress.

“Relax, Galahad.”

And he did. He sighed as Tristan moved his other hand down, and when he felt the fingers covered in oil in the cleft of his ass, he tensed just a little before nodding to the man, who looked at him for confirmation. And then, he started circling his hole with his fingers, massaging the taut muscle and spreading the liquid.

Tristan bent down again, supporting himself with one arm next to Galahad’s head, and then one of his fingers started going slowly inside him. Galahad gasped, dropping his head backwards and squeezing Tristan’s shoulder tight again. The finger stilled inside him as the scout’s mouth went to his chin, pressing light kisses, and Galahad finally raised his head again. He snared the hair at Tristan’s nape with his other hand to bring his mouth to his.

“I’m all right, keep going,” he croaked in between kisses.

Tristan restarted the movement while their kisses turned sloppy and erratic. Galahad found himself getting used to the intrusion, and then Tristan added another finger as carefully as he had done it with the first. Galahad’s breathing promptly turned again into a succession of soft gasps to which Tristan responded by adjusting and quickening his rhythm when he knew Galahad was ready. Then, Tristan did something with his fingers, crooking them inside him, and Galahad’s vision blackened.

“Ohhh fuck, Tristan!” he cried out as his fingers sank deep into the man’s nape.

“Galahad, I’m- I’m so sorry,” the scout blurted, beginning to remove the fingers.

Galahad opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, and pulled Tristan even closer.

“No, don’t-! Fuck. Do that again,” he tried to say, but it came out as a plea.

Tristan complied, diving into him once again and brushing the same spot as before. Galahad dropped his head back onto the mattress as he arched his back and shamelessly bucked his hips against Tristan’s fingers.

“Oh gods…”

Tristan groaned as he added a third finder, stretching and repeating the movement, which made Galahad’s cock leak against his stomach.

When his fingers pulled out, Galahad whined at the loss once again, and he looked up as Tristan sat up and bent over the bed to take the bottle of oil again. Galahad couldn’t just stay still, so he sat up and followed Tristan’s movements, taking the bottle in his own hand when the scout straightened.

Galahad poured the rest of the liquid in his hand and discarded the empty bottle, determined of what he intended next. He looked at the scout’s eyes with the hint of a smile on his lips. When Tristan nodded to him, he took the man’s hard cook in his hand, spreading the oil and giving him a couple of tugs. Tristan’s nostrils flared as his mouth opened in a quiet gasp, and Galahad tightened his grip, as he had done a thousand times before when he was touching himself in that very same bed, thinking about the very same man that he had before him. But in that moment, Tristan grabbed his wrist, stopping him because he probably was already on the edge, and he pulled him closer.

“Come here,” he said simply.

Tristan sat back on the mattress and made Galahad straddle him. For a second, he frowned a little, not sure of what Tristan meant to do, and _then_ he saw the knight bracing himself on one arm, and he let out a soft gasp in anticipation once he understood.

Galahad held onto Tristan’s shoulders while he adjusted his position. Tristan first pressed his lips on Galahad’s chest in a light kiss, and then he took his erection with his free hand. When Galahad felt the head of the scout’s cock at his opening, Tristan looked at him in the eyes, and then he sank down on the other’s lap. That felt completely different than Tristan’s fingers, but as Galahad slowly descended, he found that he loved the feeling even more. Tristan wrapped his free arm around his back to hold him and guide him, and when he was completely inside him, Galahad let out a moan as he embraced Tristan’s neck with both arms and leaned into his mouth. The other received him with his lips in something that was more breathing into each other’s mouths than a kiss.

When Tristan started rocking his hips slowly, Galahad thought he was going to pass out, because nothing could feel that good. But as good as it was, he quickly found himself wanting more; more friction, a quicker pace, more of Tristan’s lips, hands and every single part of him. He started moving with him, accompanying his movements but also making the thrusts stronger and faster. When Tristan shifted his hips ever so slightly and brushed _that_ spot inside him again, Galahad moaned loudly, sinking his fingers into Tristan’s shoulders and pushing him onto the mattress until he was lying down. He put a hand on Tristan’s chest, curling his fingers in the hair he found, and then he dropped his head back as he started riding him in earnest. He felt one of Tristan’s hands on his thigh and the other on his hip, accompanying his movements up and down.

Galahad felt like he was going to burst, because nothing could feel that good without ending in his death. But if death was what awaited him at the end of that night, he thought he would very gladly welcome it, having been worth feeling so much of Tristan, hearing his wanton sounds, matching Galahad’s, and seeing the scout underneath him when he opened his eyes again.

Galahad knew he was close, oh so close, and that the other was too, but in that moment Tristan groaned and suddenly tightened his grip on his hips as he pushed up, lifting him for half a second to flip their positions until Galahad was lying down again and Tristan on top of him. Galahad linked his legs around the other’s waist, as he had done when he had picked him up, and Tristan kept moving inside him.

Galahad dropped his head back as he gave in to the intense feeling of pleasure, and he felt Tristan bending down and pressing his lips on his neck, licking at the pulse in his throat and nipping at his bearded jaw as they rocked back and forth together.

“Ah- Tristan!”

Galahad felt one of the scout’s hands gripping his erection between their stomachs, tugging and applying the perfect pressure. He came with a hoarse cry, closing his eyes as he dug fingers and nails in Tristan’s shoulders, the orgasm making him arch his back against him. The scout followed him closely after a couple more erratic movements, letting out a rumble next to Galahad’s ear.

Tristan collapsed against his chest, burying his head in the crook of his neck. They stayed very still as they caught their breaths, their damp and sticky chests pressed together, and their arms still holding each other as closely as they could. When Tristan finally moved, he pulled carefully out of Galahad, and he grunted softly before searching for his lips once again. Galahad returned the kiss while he pushed him with a leg until Tristan was lying on his side.

“That was…” he said when he pulled back to look at him. “It was unbelievable.”

Tristan’s maroon eyes gleamed as his lips curved upwards in a sleepy smile. “It truly was.”

When they could move, Galahad stood up shakily. His limbs felt as though he was walking in mud softened by the rain. He retrieved a cloth from his wooden trunk, and they cleaned themselves as well as they could. Tristan took his wrist and pulled him onto the bed after he threw the cloth away, and Galahad let him cocoon him in his arms as Tristan nuzzled his jaw.

Galahad felt like he was floating, all strength having left him, but a warm feeling having replaced it. He let out a sated sigh as he wrapped an arm around Tristan’s waist to pull him even closer, their cooling bodies warming up again as soon as they made contact with each other.

He fell asleep in Tristan’s arms, an infinite bliss filling him and making his chest swell with each breath he took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry (but not sorry at all??) if someone was here for the plot and not the smut, because well, this's an entire chapter of smut, yup *shrugs*  
> And Galahad riding Tristan was something I _very_ much needed ;)
> 
> I hope you've liked this chapter! I'm not sure whether I'll be able to update tomorrow the sixth and last chapter, but I will try. If I can't, I hope I can update on Sunday the latest ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Galahad woke up in a nest of limbs and warm skin under the blankets. He groaned softly as he nuzzled into what he found in front of him, which turned out to be the other’s chest, tightening the embrace around Tristan while stretching his back and legs. The scout responded immediately, inhaling through his nose and dragging his fingers up across Galahad’s bare side until he cupped his cheek in his palm and pulled back a little.

“Good morning…” said Tristan, his voice thick and hoarse with sleep.

Galahad smiled widely even before opening his eyes, and he found Tristan already looking at him, his eyelids still half-closed and one of his braids hanging in front of his face. He reached up and brushed the loose strands of hair back, and then he let his fingers skim over the two black lines tattooed on his face. He traced the smaller one first, feeling the barely noticeable ridges of the tattoo edges, and then he let his index finger fall upon the second, brushing his pad across the gorge between the two lines. When Galahad looked back at Tristan’s eyes, his heart skipped a beat at what he saw in them. His usually composed features betrayed now an intense fondness that Galahad knew couldn’t have been faked in any way. And it matched perfectly with the way _he_ felt, his chest swelling every time he inhaled.

Galahad leaned his forehead against Tristan’s, and he remembered the dream he had had that night, so he sighed a little into the other’s cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” Tristan asked after a few seconds of silence, one of his fingers playing with a curl at his nape.

“Home,” he said, pulling back to meet his eyes again. “I dreamt about home last night.”

Galahad traced a line across Tristan’s jaw until he reached his beard, where he touched the soft but thick hair there.

“I don’t remember much,” Galahad kept talking, Tristan listening intently, “but I do remember the clear stream where we collected our water, or the vast meadow near our village. I used to play there, and I loved the way the sun made the green grass look so bright…”

His smile grew wider before he was conscious of it, and then he dropped his hand to Tristan’s chest.

“There’s only two years left. Two years, and we will be able to return home.”

“I don’t remember anything from the place I once called home,” Tristan said then, and Galahad’s smile faltered a little. “And before I didn’t have anything that would make me long for the moment in which we would be free, nothing to go back to.”

“Before?” Galahad asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tristan smiled then, and the fingers in Galahad’s hair cupped the back of his neck.

“Now I think maybe I could long for that freedom. No more wars that aren’t ours... And perhaps one day you could show me that meadow of yours.”

“I would love that,” Galahad agreed, his heart fluttering inside his chest.

Galahad beamed when Tristan pulled him closer again. Tristan kissed him between his eyebrows, on the bridge of his nose, down to his cheeks and the corner of his lips. And when he finally found his lips, Galahad happily returned the kiss as the scout pulled him closer still, with the arm he had under Galahad. Tristan’s other hand left his face to slide down his side until he reached his lower back. Galahad chuckled a little against his lips when he felt Tristan’s fingers still hesitantly stopping before his buttocks, even after what they had shared the night before, even if they were completely naked under the blankets, their bodies pressed close. He moved back to look at him, and he felt arousal starting to coil in his stomach when he saw the smirk on Tristan’s lips. He shoved away the furs, pushed Tristan onto his back and moved to straddle him, all in one swift movement, pressing both hands next to Tristan’s head to support himself. He ran his tongue across his lips when he saw the hunger pushing away the remnants of sleep in Tristan’s eyes, and he bit his bottom lip as he shamelessly dropped his gaze between their bodies, taking in the sight of the scout’s morning erection.

“Tristan…” he said in a whisper, looking up at him.

Tristan had to swallow before opening his mouth, and Galahad enjoyed greatly seeing the scout having difficulty to find his words. “Yes?”

“I think I’d like to try doing what you did to me yesterday...” he purred the words.

Galahad slipped his hand between their bodies, and he gripped both of their cocks, Tristan’s darker and harder beneath his own paler, growing erection. Tristan’s mouth opened at the touch, but he just held his gaze, not making a sound. Galahad slid his grip up and down a couple of times, and only when Tristan bucked his hips up against his hand did he smiled and bend down, gasping against Tristan’s ear at his own movement.

“What you did to me… with your mouth.”

Galahad pulled back and slid his hand up and down again, his own erection completely hard now, and he admired how Tristan had to bite his lower lip before putting both hands on his thighs, dragging them up to grip his waist.

“Fuck, Galahad... How on earth did you manage to gain the name of the Pure?”

Galahad laughed, and then he kissed Tristan’s with a smile on his own lips. Then, he let go of his hand to crawl down his body without looking away from Tristan’s eyes.

When he was settled between the man’s legs, he remembered how Tristan’s mouth had felt around him, and his own cock twitched in answer. He wanted, almost desperately, to make Tristan feel as good as he had felt, and he knew he probably would need more than one attempt to get it right… But he definitely didn’t mind the training, if it meant he would become as skilled at that in bed as he was with a sword in battle.

Galahad started by gripping his erection and giving a tentative lick around the head. Tristan’s response was immediate, a hoarse grunt surging from this throat. The second was longer and firmer, dragging his tongue across the underside as Galahad got used to the unique, musky taste and scent. Tristan swore then, grabbing the furs underneath them, and when Galahad wrapped his lips around him, he arched his back and his other hand slid between his curls, gripping firmly but gently. He tried emulate what Tristan had done to him, so he moved his tongue while swallowing him down, and Tristan panted. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking upwards, and Tristan dug the heels into the bed. He rumbled while he had him inside his mouth, and Tristan gripped his hair tighter for a second. He slid hid fingers to his balls, moving them around in circles, and Tristan moaned loudly.

“Fuck, Galahad, I’m- I’m going to-”

Galahad didn’t listen to his warning, knowing very well what he intended to do. He swallowed Tristan as deep as he could, and when he felt the throbbing, he pulled back just a bit. Tristan came with a hoarse cry, Galahad swallowing his release as the other gripped his curls tighter again. Galahad pulled back as Tristan’s whole body loosened behind him, and he ran his tongue across his lips, tasting even more of Tristan.

“Are you sure you had never done this before?”

Galahad smiled while he crawled over him, and he shook his head as he dug his head in his neck. He mouthed at his throat, feeling the still accelerated pulse.

“I’m sure… But you know that I’m a fast learner.”

Tristan cupped the back of his neck once more to meet his eyes again, and he looked at him intensely, his breathing still uneven, affection and desire perfectly merged in his gaze. When he pulled him closer for a kiss, they rolled over and Galahad wrapped both arms around the broad expanse of Tristan’s back.

When they managed to get out of bed after exploring each other even further, they dressed in the discarded clothes of the night before, and Tristan helped him lace up his tunic with the corner of his lips curled upwards.

“I bet our bothers-in-arms are going to be very curious about our absence at breakfast,” Tristan said, and Galahad shrugged.

“They’ll probably think that I had the company of a woman, and that you were just hiding somewhere with your hawk,” he said, and Tristan nodded in agreement. “Although… you should know that Gawain knows about us.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow, and Galahad ducked his head.

“He apparently knew about my feelings for you, and… I may have unintentionally told him yesterday,” he said, pursing his lips.

“Well, that’s one less of them to worry about,” he said, but he didn’t seem very concerned about their friends finding out. “But if Gawain tries to tease me about it, I’ll break his arm.”

Galahad snorted, and then they went towards the door. But apparently Tristan hadn’t finished because he touched his wrist to stop him, and when Galahad turned, he saw that Tristan’s face had changed, suddenly turning more serious.

“Wait, Galahad. There’s something I need to tell you. I…” Tristan started saying, but then his words died away, and he looked down.

“Yes?”

Tristan smiled a little, but the joy didn’t reach his eyes, and then he huffed and shook his head.

“Never mind. We better go have some breakfast before Dagonet eats everything.”

Despite his attempt at joking, Galahad knew he had been about to say something. And judging by the way he was trying to change the subject, Galahad had a slight idea of what it was.

The scout took Galahad’s face in his hands and pressed his lips to his forehead in a light kiss, but when he pulled back Galahad grabbed Tristan’s tunic and held him close. He took Tristan’s cheek with his other hand, and his heart began thumping inside his ribcage even before he had opened his mouth.

“I love you too, Tristan.”

In that moment, Galahad prayed to all the gods, the ones they believed in and even the ones they didn’t, that he wasn’t wrong about this. But even if he was, and Tristan hadn’t meant to tell him that just before changing his mind, Galahad decided that _he_ needed to say it. The night in the tent, he had made it clear for Tristan that he very much returned his affections, that his feelings were the same. But while Tristan had opened his heart to him, Galahad had not been able to voice them, too awestruck at his words and what was happening to return them. So he cast aside the voice that told him that Tristan might get scared at his honesty, and he just kept talking.

“I have loved you since before I _knew_ that it was love that I felt, and now I know that I love you more than I thought was even possible…”

Tristan stayed very still, their faces close but parted enough so that Galahad could perfectly see the moment in which his eyes changed, his upper lip twitching ever so slightly. Galahad thought then that he had been right in his guess at what Tristan had been about to say. What confirmed it, though, was Tristan gripping his curls tightly and pulling him to a kiss. Galahad answered gladly the hungry and passionate kiss, closing his eyes and grabbing Tristan’s tunic to battle the tears of joy that threatened him.

When Tristan pulled back out of breath, he cupped Galahad’s face with both hands again, and bowed his head so they would be at eye-level.

“I do… I love you. And I’m afraid that, as I told you the other night, there’s no turning back now. I will _always_ love you, whatever happens…”

“Always?” Galahad asked, huffing out a delighted laugh, a warm feeling pooling in his belly as he smiled again.

“As long as there are mountains in the earth and stars up in the sky.”

A single tear ran down Tristan’s cheek, and the knot in Galahad’s throat tightened as he buried his face in the crook of his neck, pulling him in a strong embrace.

Given the life they led, they truly had no way of knowing what tomorrow would bring. But Tristan’s promise warmed his heart and made him think that the future they had imagined just moments ago could one day become a reality.

**TWO YEARS LATER**

Galahad sat down on the ground, and he sighed as his hands skimmed along the blades of grass. He closed his eyes to let the sun heat his skin, but in that moment he heard a screech, so he looked up. A hawk was soaring in the sky, its feathers gently caressing the air as it traced a circle. He obviously knew that that was not Tristan’s hawk; this bird was grey when Tristan’s had been brown, and smaller, when the one flying above his head was larger. But still, he couldn’t help the half smile that was immediately painted onto his face, feeling a small knot in his throat at remembering Tristan’s bird.

“You are thinking about her too, aren’t you?”

Galahad’s smile widened, and he looked up at the newcomer, squinting at the sun hitting him directly in the eyes.

“I can’t help it. I wonder if she’ll miss her owner…” Galahad said.

The other finally sat down, grunting a little and baring his teeth at the pain, since the battle wounds still weighed on him, as they did on Galahad.

It had been months since the battle with the Saxons, and Galahad could still smell the smoke, could still hear the dying men’s screams and see the blood behind his eyelids. Because there had been _so_ much blood, blood spilled onto the earth, blood painting their swords, blood on the faces of their brothers-in-arms…

When Galahad found Tristan in the battlefield, panic had seized him at seeing the unmoving shape of the scout and the ugly cut in his back … He had knelt beside him with a lump in his throat, muttering prayers to all the gods he knew while he rolled Tristan over in his arms. He put the man in his lap and bent down, his only focus his parted lips and his closed eyes, and Galahad had begged him to wake up. It hadn’t been until he bent down and pressed an imploring and shaking kiss on his lips, that Tristan had inhaled deeply through his nose and his eyelids had fluttered open. And finally, Galahad had allowed himself to shed the tears in his eyes while he embraced him.

After that, it had still been a few endless nights of hearing Tristan’s groans and wails in a semi-conscious state as they waited to see if he would make it. But of course, maybe because he was one of the strongest and most stubborn men he had ever met, or because Galahad would’ve followed him to whatever underworld he would’ve had to go to bring him back, he survived.

Galahad looked at him now, drinking in the sight of his disarrayed hair, as always, brightened by the sunlight, at the shadowed part of his face, his tattooed cheekbones making his features look sharper still, and he couldn’t help but to broaden his smile.

“I hope she doesn’t. I hope she’s making the most of her freedom…”

Galahad nodded, because of course, Tristan wasn’t talking only about his hawk.

He moved aside until he bumped into Tristan, and he enjoyed the still new feeling of nothing more than both of their tunics between their bodies. No need for armor or swords, except for the knives they kept hidden in their boots because old habits didn’t die easily. No need to be constantly waiting for an attack, for a new mission that could be the end of their lives… There was only freedom now. Only them.

“I’m sure she will,” Galahad assured him.

Tristan looked at him with a warm smile on his lips, because now his features were far more relaxed than they used to be, revealing his feelings to him more easily. But when the man didn’t look away for a long moment, Galahad raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Your eyes never seem to decide what color they are. They keep changing from blue to green to gray.”

Galahad chuckled, and he reached out to link their hands together, caressing the back with his thumb.

“And have _you_ reached a conclusion about their color?”

“Not yet,” Tristan said, frowning as if it was a serious subject. “I’ll have to keep looking at them.”

“Well, if _that’s_ necessary… What other choice do you have?”

Galahad reached out his other hand to brush a finger down the two lines on the man’s cheekbones in a familiar gesture. Then, he leaned in to give him a light kiss, their lips easily adjusting to the other’s.

When they pulled back, the hawk was gone, the warm sun and soft breeze the only remaining things in the meadow apart from them.

 

FINIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, let's see:
> 
> · My initial idea was to finish the fic before the sort of epilogue two years after, but I'm a sucker for happy endings, so I just couldn't leave it there. If you're a sucker for ambiguos endings, then ignore the 'two years later' xD
> 
> · A million thanks to [Chifuyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu) for educating us during the King Arthur Party with historical and Arthurian facts<3333\. One of the things she told us, was how in the legend Galahad dreamt that he saved the life of a knight with a kiss (yep xD). I couldn't help to hint it with Galahad kissing Tristan right before he wakes up ;) (and also, go read her Tristhad Week fic, it's amazing!)
> 
> · Thanks again to [CarpeDiemForLife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDiemForLife/) for betaing this and making it better, for enduring my constant questions and hesitations regarding this story (which were even stronger than usually, for some reason xD). What did I do to deserve you?? *draws hearts around her*
> 
> · And finally THANKS, once again, to the overwhelming response the fic has had. I really expected to publish this story only for a couple of people, and you guys have made this Tristhad Week even better than I ever imagined with your kudos, comments, tweets... Thank you SO much<333.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I've made a [Tristhad Week fic recs post](http://starkaryen.tumblr.com/post/143014690678/tristhad-week-fic-recs) on tumblr, so go see if there are some fics you haven't read and send love to the Tristhad writers!!! 
> 
> Check my other [Hannigram fics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starkaryen/works?fandom_id=801274) if you want :)

**Author's Note:**

> \----
> 
> All information + links about my writing are [here](https://about.me/mizumohno).
> 
> Say hello to me @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/mizumohno) and [tumblr](http://starkaryen.tumblr.com/) :)


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